


'Be Worthy, Love, and Love Will Come,' In the Falling Summer Rain

by imagined_melody



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Evermore (non-explicit), Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagined_melody/pseuds/imagined_melody
Summary: Jean works at the library and tries to adjust to life after college. A chance encounter with Jeremy in the stacks helps bring him out of his shell.Written for the AFTG Valentine's Exchange 2019.





	'Be Worthy, Love, and Love Will Come,' In the Falling Summer Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuzzballsheltiepants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/gifts).



> FuzzballSheltiePants asked for a Jerejean "bookstore-type AU" for the Valentine's Exchange, and I thought a library AU was a logical fulfillment of that prompt! In this AU, Jean still has much the same troubled childhood at Evermore, and still escapes to USC, just without Jeremy in the picture (until now, lol). I hope you enjoy- and sorry for the delay!
> 
> I do also want to apologize in advance if I may have failed to fulfill one aspect of the prompt. The recipient did ask for a fic that was "Moriyama-free if possible," and I did end up mentioning Evermore and the torture inflicted there, although the Moriyama family, Riko, and Tetsuji are only mentioned by name once in the exposition and do not appear in the present-day events in the story. Part of the reason this is so late is that I realized I'd included this when I was nearly done and I was trying to find a way to take out the references and still have a successful story. I couldn't get it right on that count, though, so I just hope it's not too heavy on the Moriyamas for you. Sorry in advance if it is. :(
> 
> Also, mild spoilers for a couple of books ( _Good Omens_ , _The Ocean at the End of the Lane_ , and _Little Women_ , specifically).

Jean Moreau spent his days surrounded by books.

He had graduated college with his degree (with honors), a ridiculously high GPA, an impeccable education—and no earthly idea how to live on his own and function in the world. Jobs meant dealing with people, navigating complex transactional environments that Jean knew he was not ready to face. Though it had been years since he’d been rescued from Riko’s abusive clutches, the wounds were still too fresh. Something in him could not stand on its own two feet; not yet.

But Jean had always loved books. When he was a child, growing up in a home with parents so desperate—and, he secretly believed, desperate to be _rid of him_ —that they would eventually sell him off to the Moriyamas, he had used books to stay out of the way, to escape from a world that didn’t seem to want anything to do with him. After he’d been sent to America, he read to improve his mediocre English, learning the words Tetsuji’s beatings and punishments hadn’t gotten to stick. And when finally, he’d found himself free of all the torment and blood and pain of his developmental years and safely relocated to USC, he’d turned to books when things were too overwhelming. He’d stayed stoic and silent as much as he could, worked for a life he still did not expect he could have, but worked anyway because he was _here_ , and wasn’t that what he was supposed to do?

It had been jarring to hear other students talking about their “dream jobs,” the careers that they were so sure would make them happy. It was a foreign concept to Jean’s mind, a reminder of how easily happiness came to people who were not him. For a long time, he could think of no work that would not bring with it a terrible anxiety. Then, one day, he thought of books. And something within him _wondered_ , if maybe there was a way he could find work there.

Bookstore work involved retail, and with it the constant human interaction that always proved so difficult for Jean. Most of the other jobs in related fields—curators, historians, upper-level positions in the library sciences—required certifications, qualifications, and studies he did not have. But the local library did have a few part-time openings: shelving books for a few hours a week, paid a couple of dollars over minimum wage. All he had to do was prove that he knew how to categorize the books into their proper places using the library’s classification system. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A foot in the door.

It required no particularly advanced skill or complexity of thought, and for that Jean was immensely grateful. There were people around, but they needed nothing from him: his job was to load up the cart with books and other materials and simply move from shelf to shelf, methodically putting each item back where it belonged. The repetitive work quieted his brain in a way that few other things did; the predictable routine stabilized him, a safely unvarying constant in a world whose intricacies he still felt too adrift to navigate. There was a pleasant gratification in knowing that each text had a place, that he could put it back where it belonged and it would be _right_ , would be _correct_. 

He knew that his fellow classmates, the few who still checked up on him, wondered why he settled for such a menial job. He was smart, and if the assessment of his former coach at USC was any indication, he had “potential;” why waste it doing something that required none of his innate talents? But Jean found that the hours he spent organizing and shelving were the closest he had come to truly enjoying anything in as long as he could remember. He was not okay, not by a long shot—but in these moments he felt like one day, maybe, he _could_ be. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time Jean had seen Jeremy, something deep within him had stared at that handsome face and thought, _I am not okay_.

He didn’t know how else to understand that feeling deep inside, of something rioting against the normal way of things, drawn to Jeremy’s smile like a moth to a flame. Jean had first noticed him while he was reshelving in the fiction section on a Friday afternoon; he’d rounded the corner and seen this rugged, effortlessly attractive man skimming the first page of a book he’d taken off the shelf. (It was _Good Omens_ , if the glimpse Jean had got of the cover was any indication; he spent so much time looking at the books in these aisles that he could usually guess a patron’s selection just by their position and the color of the book jacket.) His eyes darted across the page, and as he read, he smiled to himself—a private expression of delight at the words that were written there.

The book Jean was holding fell from his hands to the floor.

The handsome boy startled. “Oh!” he said, when he saw Jean standing there, looking perplexed. “Here, let me help you with that—”

“No, no, you don’t have to, I’m—” Jean’s voice felt caught in his throat. “It’s fine, really.”

The man gave him a soft smile. “Okay. If you’re sure.” He stepped back an inch or two, letting Jean bend down to pick up the book for himself. 

Jean retrieved it and put it back on the cart, his posture stiff with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No—” The other man waved his hand dismissively. “No, it’s fine. I was just—” He held up the book, confirming Jean’s guess at the title. “This looks like a good book.”

“It is,” Jean said, before he could stop himself, then corrected, “Well, I haven’t read it, but—I know it is supposed to be good.”

The stranger seemed to think for a second. After a moment, he walked back to the bookshelf, took out a second copy, and nudged it into Jean’s hands. “Why don’t we read it at the same time?” he said. “Then the next time I’m here, you can tell me what you think of it.” He held out a hand. “I’m Jeremy.”

Jean’s natural instinct when presented with a new social situation was to look for a way out, and he could feel his brain trying to do that now. But the pull of Jeremy’s presence, pleasant and unassuming, was equally strong. Moving the book into his left hand, Jean extended his right. “Jean Moreau.”

“Jean,” Jeremy repeated, saying the word as though it were a valuable thing. “See you soon, Jean. I’ll probably be back next week. I’m a fast reader.” He winked and headed for the checkout line.

Jean could only stand there and think to himself, _What in the world just happened?_

~*~*~*~*~*~

He read the whole book in one weekend. 

He always had books checked out from the library, to pass the free time he had a bit too much of since he was only working part-time, but once he started this one he found that he couldn’t stop. It was funny, witty in a charming way, and the characters all believed the world was worth saving. Jean found that the more he read, the more—at least for a time—he believed it too.

He compared thoughts with an enthusiastic Jeremy the next Wednesday, who turned out to be an avid Terry Pratchett fan. “This author is excellent as well,” Jean commented, pointing to Neil Gaiman’s name on the cover. “I’ve read several of his other works.”

“Which ones have you read?” Jeremy asked.

Jean shrugged. “Some of the short story collections,” he said. “And _The Ocean at the End of the Lane_ , but I found that one difficult.”

“Why?”

Jean thought of scenes of a boy escaping a household that seemed to be aligned against him, of forces that could control and manipulate family members, of strong men holding young boys down in the bath and trying to drown them as punishment for disobedience. He repressed a shudder. “Just some content I wasn’t comfortable with.” He looked up at Jeremy. “I did like _Stardust_ , though.”

Jeremy’s smile went delighted and wide. “Jean, I’m beginning to think you have a soft side!” Jean knew he was blushing and looked away, but Jeremy laughed and tugged on his shoulder. “Come on. What’s your favorite book? I bet you’d pick a great one.”

Jean went quiet for a few moments. Then he got up and went over to the fiction shelf and pulled off a book. He held it in his hands for a second, knowing that he would be sharing something private and close to his heart with this boy he had hardly even met. And then he carried it over and held it out to Jeremy.

It was a copy of _Little Women._

Jeremy reached out to take it from him. “Oh, Jean,” he said with a soft smile. 

Jean sat back down. “I always assumed boys were not supposed to like this book,” he said. “But it is beautiful. Even when it is sad, it feels… I do not know how to explain. Peaceful. Like things will come out for the best.”

“Where did you first read it?” Jeremy asked. His voice was low, almost reverent, as though Jean’s opinion of this book merited a great deal of respect.

Jean sighed, then shook his head, thinking of his room at Evermore and his sixteen-year-old self huddled in bed, reading about the March sisters while his limbs throbbed with the soreness of intense physical activity and the ache of badly-healed broken bones. “At a painful time in my life,” he confessed. “I can’t—I don’t want to say more.”

“You don’t have to,” Jeremy murmured immediately. He handed the book back, and their fingertips grazed each other against the cover. “But I think I was right about your soft side.”

Jean felt the smile come to his lips unbidden. “I do not think of myself in that way,” he admitted, “but I suppose you are right.”

His break was almost over; he had to get back to work. Jean stood up and got ready to go back to his cart. He was almost there when he heard Jeremy’s voice.

“Have a movie night with me? We can rent _Little Women_ and cry together.”

Jeremy’s expression was open and hopeful when Jean looked back, and Jean found himself confident in a way that was brand new to him. He left his cart again and returned the few steps to where the other man still sat. Leaning down, he whispered into Jeremy’s ear. “It’s a date.”

The look of joy on Jeremy’s face as Jean walked away filled him with something warm, and he had to pause when he rounded the corner into the stacks to breathe, trying to calm his racing heart. _This_ , he thought, and felt himself smile at it, _**this** is what it feels like to be all right._

He’d spent enough time escaping from the world through books. Now, they had finally helped him step back out into the light.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from Louisa May Alcott's _Little Women_ , of course! I'll admit I'm more a fan of _Little Men_ , myself, but that's beside the point.


End file.
